Every Last Memory
by Misery's-Toll
Summary: She was like a star in all this hellish darkness. His one hope at finding home. Various Caryl-related oneshots and drabbles. Spoilers for season 3.
1. Save Our City

**Save Our City  
A/N:** This was my first attempt at The Walking Dead fic. It takes place pre-warrior Carol.  
**Summary:** Carol and Daryl get separated from the group during a hoard.  
**Song listened to:** "Save Our City" by Ludo

* * *

No matter how much air she tried to gulp into her lungs, it always felt like there wasn't enough. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in, in, in.

The eager grunts and moans of the walkers behind her were loud enough to drown out her desperate gasps. The idea crossed her mind that if she could just get out of sight, maybe take a sharp left or right, their own momentum would carry them straight ahead and far away from her trail.

She could see it. Her opportunity was only about fifteen feet away. If she could just squeeze into the small crevasse between shipping containers, the stumbling dead would be their own worst enemy. Any stragglers who caught her trail could only funnel in a couple at a time, and she could take them out more easily.

Knife poised before her, she threw herself into the small path. Her body immediately met fleshy resistance and she screamed, thrusting her blade blindly into the face of her attacker. Before it could drive home, her arm was wrenched abruptly forward.

"Goddamnit woman, it's me! C'mon!" Daryl growled, gripping her wrist in his hot, gritty hand.

He moved almost too quickly for her shaking legs to keep up, but he never let go. He led her relentlessly through the maze of high-stacked metal boxes, taking disorienting twists and turns that Carol would never be able to recount.

The metal on either side of them radiated nauseating heat that had their bodies quickly turning slick with sweat. She could hear moans resonating loudly all around them. No matter how many turns they took, there were always more walkers ahead and behind them.

"Shit!" Daryl hissed, and stepped back from the corner he was about to turn. She collided roughly with his shoulder as he spun on his heel, but he only adjusted his grip on her and doubled back the way they came, toward their undead followers.

Carol glanced over her shoulder and screamed, "Daryl!" There were even more on the other side of them. They were blocked off on both sides. This was it. They were going to die.

Daryl didn't give up. Pistol in hand, he blasted gaping holes into the skulls of the two nearest walkers. They slumped sideways, stopping up the tunnel and slowing down the clumsy walkers trailing behind them just enough that he and Carol had time to squeeze into a thin path they'd ignored before. Carol shared one putrid breath with a gruesome, worm-eaten corpse before Daryl had its decayed brain matter splattering across her face.

All sounds were completely swallowed by the high-pitched ringing in her ears, a result of the resounding gunshot that continued to echo off the steel walls. But they were alive. With Daryl's unrelenting hold on her, she had faith.

They reached open air. Daryl whipped his head left and right, searching for their next destination, but where could they possibly go? There was a warehouse about a hundred yards ahead, but something that big would be impossible to secure.

"There!" Carol cried, pointing to a manhole in the asphalt. The cover was slightly ajar, as if someone else had used it as an escape before them. But whatever was down below couldn't be worse than what they were already running from.

Daryl gave her a quick nod of approval and released her wrist to lift the heavy hunk of metal aside.

"Git on already!" he shouted, "We ain't got all day!"

She nodded and scrambled into the hole, the trembles in her body increasing with every shot fired above her head.

She slipped on one of the lower rungs and landed on her ass in sewage. Daryl pulled the manhole shut and landed with a splash beside her. Carol pulled herself to a shaking stand and found herself using her companion as a crutch in the pitch blackness.

"Ya alright?" he asked, and she could feel his labored breathing beneath her hands.

Carol nodded and wheezed. No matter how hard she trained herself physically, she could never have been prepared for all of this. Daryl on the other hand, could have gotten himself out of there with stealth and speed so impressive that the walkers wouldn't have caught so much as a whiff of him if she hadn't been there to slow him down.

"Are ya okay? Are ya bit?" he insisted, and it took her a moment to realize he hadn't been able to see her nod.

"Yes," she breathed, "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you, Daryl."

For a second, she thought she was going to cry. But before she could, she burst into giggles. Laughs of adrenaline and relief bubbled from her gut with such staggering force that she almost fell over. Daryl could only sigh and hold her upright.

She took a took a deep breath and wiped her tears on the back of her hand. She was okay. She could get a hold of herself.

"I can't believe we're alive," she said, stepping away from Daryl to give the man some space.

"Yeah, well we ain't done yet," he replied, "Dumb as shit idea, crawlin' around in the dark. Who the hell knows what's down here."

Carol fumbled around in her hobo bag with trembling hands, running her fingers over the contours of the items that lay inside. A bottle of hand sanitizer, a few loose casings, two candy bars, a roll of gauze, and at last, a glow stick.

"Here," she said, cracking it to life. It immediately began to glow an eerie green, much brighter than anticipated. She found Daryl's eyes in the darkness, and grinned. "We're going to be okay."

* * *

_**End.**_


	2. A Christmas Carol

**A Christmas Carol  
A/N:** I apologize for the title on this one. I genuinely couldn't think of anything else. This is just a Christmas-related drabble.  
**Summary:** Carol and Daryl discuss the holidays.  
**Song listened to****:** "Fireflies" - Ron Pope

* * *

Really, none of them knew what day it was at any given time. But as the winter grew colder and the sky turned greyer, a few members of the group decided on their own that Christmas must be approaching, and that the prison should be decorated as such.

Carl, Beth, and Maggie were the main culprits. The three had childishly pleaded for a Christmas tree for days, and of course it was Glen who finally ventured into the woods for something that would suffice. He came back with a pathetic, balding sapling that he'd cut down with a dull axe that had seen more walker brains than lumberjacking, but he received enough cheers and thanks for the whole trip to seem worth it.

Soon enough, there were sprigs of pretend mistletoe hanging where they could, makeshift ornaments hanging from the tree that looked like it came straight from a Charlie Brown holiday special. Beth and Maggie's cheerful voices filled the prison corridors and a few of the others started to get into the spirit.

"Has e'rybody gone stupid? It's like just cuz we got a couple a damn snowflakes they think we don't gotta watch for walkers," Daryl griped, squinting into a pair of binoculars. He could see the younger Greene girl spinning in circles down below, her head tilted back and her tongue sticking out for a taste of the falling snow.

Carol leaned against the railing beside him and breathed on her fingertips to warm them up. "I think it's sweet," she said, "Morale has been a little low around here, and I think it's about time for something to lift everybody's spirits."

Daryl lowered the binoculars and frowned at her. "Yeah, it's fine 'til one of 'em gets killed goin' on a run for tinsel or some shit."

Carol laughed and tightened the scarf around her neck. Even though her cheeks were numb and her nose was running, she found herself enjoying the weather and excited for their little upcoming celebration. She had a feeling that despite all of Daryl's complaining, he was having a bit of a good time as well.

"Tomorrow we'll have our Christmas dinner and then everything can go back to normal," she said cheerily, "Axel found me a few cans of yams and green beans to fix up, and Glenn got a few bottles of spicy rum when he last went out for supplies."

Daryl snorted. Of course the damn Asian would risk his neck for something like that. Anything to keep the farm girl happy. "Don't go expectin' me to hunt y'all a turkey," he said with a hint of a smile, and lifted the binoculars to check the perimeter.

Carol grinned at Daryl and bumped her hip against his. "Christmas squirrel it is."

* * *

_**End.**_


	3. In Memoriam

**In Memoriam**  
**A/N:** Based on a prompt from witnesstoitall on tumblr. Post-S3 Finale. Spoilers!  
**Summary:** Carol finds Daryl by Andrea's freshly dug grave and realizes Merle never got a proper burial.  
**Song listened to:** "Later That Year" - Straylight Run.

* * *

"Carol finds Daryl by Andrea's freshly dug grave. Realizes Merle never got a proper burial."

Carol set aside the last polished dish and let out a sigh. The Woodbury children sat gathered at one of the mess hall tables as Hershel read aloud a passage from the Bible, finally quieted by the steady solemnity of his weathered voice.

"Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world..."

Carol leaned against the counter and shut her eyes for just a minute, savoring the moment of reprieve.

The dishes kept piling up and the food supply was rapidly dwindling. As Rick taught their newest group members the basics of gun maintenance and self-defense, there was a definite imbalance of workload. The increase in mouths to feed left Beth and Carol overwhelmed with the majority of basic household chores, including laundry, dishes, and meal preparation.

In fact, during the three days since the Woodbury citizens moved in, Carol could not recall a moment outside of the cafeteria that wasn't spent in an exhausted slumber. She and Daryl had been asked to move into a cell together, but their sleeping schedules were far from synched. She didn't think she'd seen him since he first returned with the Woodbury caravan, and she realized that she had no idea how he was even spending his days.

She silently excused herself from Hershel's reading to seek out her wayward friend, desiring his company more than anything.

A glimpse from the catwalk found him far in the distance, crouched over a shallow grave in the middle of their burial ground. As she approached, the grey winter grass crunched loudly beneath her boots, warning him of her arrival.

He didn't turn to look at her. He just kneeled at the foot of Andrea's freshly dug grave, the soil brown and upturned beneath his shins. He'd pulled the dead weeds from Lori and T-Dog's overgrown graves, and they sat in a scraggly mess beside him.

He didn't speak until she was directly behind him, standing two feet behind with her hands in her coat pockets.

"We just left her there," Daryl said without greeting. His voice was rough and nasally, though she couldn't be sure if it was just from the cold weather. "At the farm. Then with the Gov'ner. Knew he was a sick bastard, left her there anyway."

Carol nodded and sat down beside him, curling up in the bristly grass. "But you went back for her. You were there when she died."

Daryl let out a harsh sigh and squinted into the distance. "Was too late, though. My mom, yer little girl, Merle. Always a little too fuckin' late. Never been on time for nothin' in my life."

Her heart stung at the mention of Sofia, but she quietly disagreed, "That's not true. You've saved my back countless times. Rick's, too. We wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you."

Daryl shrugged and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. His eyes were red and inflamed, and her stomach fluttered at the sight of him so torn up.

"If it weren't fer Merle, none a'this woulda happened," Daryl pointed out, "Andrea would still be alive."

Carol shook her head and rested her hand on the crook of his arm. "Don't play that game. Lord knows we all have our fair share of mistakes. Your brother may not have been a good man, but he wasn't a bad one either. He tried to set things right, which is far more than that Governor ever did. Andrea's death is on him, not Merle."

Daryl briefly glanced at her from the corner of his eye, then down at her hand on his arm, but he didn't try to shake her off.

"Maybe," he mumbled, and fixed his stare back on Andrea's wooden cross, "Not sure everyone feels that way."

Carol looked at the three crosses in front of her. One for T-Dog, who gave his life to save her. Lori, who died so Judith could be born. Andrea, who was killed in her pursuit of peace. But there was nothing left of Merle, the man who took on a suicide mission just so Daryl could have a chance.

"He never had a burial," Carol said quietly in realization.

Daryl's neck stiffened, and she knew she'd caught his train of thought.

"Sunova bitch pro'ly wouldn't wanna be buried in a prison yard anyway," he mumbled, "Spent half his life tryin' ta get out of 'em."

Carol shook her head. "Still isn't right. He was your brother."

Daryl sat in silence for a minute, just thinking and staring into the dirt. When he was ready, he pulled himself to a stand, and his fingers brushed hers for a delicate moment. He whispered, "Yeah. He was."

Then he walked away, leaving her in the silence of the field, with nothing but the company of ghosts.

* * *

That night, Daryl came to bed just a few hours after she did. The scrape of his boots on the concrete roused her from her light sleep, and she smiled when he stopped short at the flower resting on his bunk.

He found her eyes in the dark, looking down at him from the top bed.

"What's this?" he whispered, picking up the Cherokee Rose. It glowed in the moonlight that streamed from above.

Carol reached out and touched him on the cheek.

"That one," she said, "Bloomed for Merle."

* * *

_**End.**_


	4. Perhaps They Are Not Stars

**Perhaps They Are Not Stars**  
**A/N: **Based on an anon prompt requesting a Caryl kiss! The quote Carol says is an old eskimo proverb.  
**Summary: **She was like a star in all this hellish darkness. His one hope at finding home.  
**Song listened to:** "How it Ends" - Devotchka

* * *

Daryl's mind had been preoccupied with other things around the time Maggie and Glenn became a couple, but the man had seen enough to guess their romance had practically come straight from a goddamn chick flick. Sickly sweet and just as naive. But with as little experience as he had, Daryl assumed that that was the only form love came in, and that was the only way it came into bloom. Hard, fast, and colorful, like fireworks on New Years Eve. Or more like getting hit with a fucking 16-wheeler, judging by the stars in the lovebirds eyes.

But love with Carol was different, he discovered. It fell into place slowly, like a stream built by rainstorms and eroded earth. It trickled into his mind and body with quiet determination, until he wasn't even sure how he'd survived without it.

"Are you going to give me your clothes to wash, or am I going to have to strip you myself?" Carol asked one day from the entrance of his cell. She kept her arms akimbo and eyebrow raised, the slightest smile teasing at her lips. It always started with her smile, a gentle glow that burned from the inside out.

Daryl whittled at an arrow in his hands, put on a phony scowl and said, "How about you go n' nag somebody else for a change?"

She laughed, the sound resonating deep in his stomach in a twist of pleasure. She stepped closer and slid her fingertips beneath the torn sleeve of his flannel shirt, sending an involuntary shudder through him. "But where would be the fun in that?"

* * *

The winter after the prison fell, the survivors found themselves living house to house again. The cold was harsh and unforgiving, but there were nights when they all curled around each other in a tangle of limbs, lulled to sleep by the whistle of wind through cracks and broken wind-chimes, and Daryl felt _at home_.

There was one particular night he could recall with perfect clarity. He had an arm strung over Rick's leg and Michonne's back was pressed into his spine, but neither felt quite as comforting as Carol's head in the crook of his shoulder.

They'd had to put down a child walker and its pregnant mother to claim this decomposing house. Nerves were tense with repressed emotion as the group grieved its heavy losses. Rick was distant, but his grip around Carl was tight. Carol had her eyes on the patch of moonlight visible through a crumbling hole in the roof.

_"Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy," _she quoted softly, threading her bony fingers through Daryl's.

They all tilted their heads back to view the small patch of sky, their only source of light in this old dark house.

There were millions of them, stars laid out like spilt glitter over a black canopy. Maybe it was the exhaustion and malnutrition getting to him, but he could feel it. Lori, T-Dog, Sofia, and Merle, all twinkling up there, laughing in heaven. Waiting.

And he knew for certain that he'd never be alone.

* * *

Their first kiss was hardly romantic.

While on a run, he'd been shot in the shoulder. The wound wasn't half as bad as some of the marks his daddy had left on his skin, but the force of it was enough to knock him flat on his back, knocking the breath from his lungs.

While he was writhing and sucking air in through his teeth, a couple of punks came out of the shadows and beat the shit out of him. Not his finest moment, bleeding rivers where their boot heels and the asphalt cut into his flesh. When they were sure he was down for the count, they tugged the crossbow from his grip and the pistol from his waistband, but his spare bullets had already rolled into the gutter, leaving the thing completely useless. They tossed his gun and he watched it sail into the grass.

"Hey, this thing's pretty sweet," said the asshole fondling his crossbow, and fired an arrow through the nearest shop window. Daryl tried to move in protest, but the kid stepped on his wounded shoulder, grinding the bullet into his bone.

Then there was a loud crash, and walkers came pouring through the shattered storefront, tripping over each other in their haste to get to their newest meal.

"Shit!" cried the other young man, "We gotta go!"

A shot rang out and the man gripping his crossbow let out a cry of pain, a bullet hole going straight through the center of his hand. The bow clattered to the ground and the two boys ran off, back through the alleyway from which they came.

"C'mon Daryl," Carol said, a tremble in her voice as she struggled to pull him to his feet. She fired her weapon again and took out the nearest walker, it's face caving in as it smashed into the pavement. Daryl thought maybe he looked a lot like that right now.

"Get up!" she urged desperately, pulling painfully at his hands. He sucked in a deep breath and peeled himself from the ground, staggering at the head rush from getting up too quickly. A concussion, most likely.

He grabbed his crossbow and Carol's wrist, stumbling over his own feet as he tugged her into an adjacent hunting supply shop he'd already cleared. They slammed the door shut behind them and pushed a heavy display case in front of it, though his shoulder protested from the strain.

When they were certain they were safe, Daryl sunk to the ground, back resting against their makeshift barricade.

"Stupid, dumbass kids!" he swore, dabbing his fingers at a gushing wound on his forehead. They took his fucking bag with all the supplies he'd scavenged, including the bandages. But he had Carol and his bow. He didn't lose everything, and for that he was grateful.

"You alright?" he asked tentatively.

He realized then, that she was crying. Silent sobs bubbling from her throat. "I'm alright," she sniffled, but crawled over to him on her hands and knees.

"Then what the hell you cryin' for?" he asked gently, searching her for wounds. As far as he could tell, the only blood on her came from him.

She caught his gaze with her own, tears tumbling down her cheeks in rapid succession. Her hand came out to cup his swelling face, her skin cool and refreshing against the developing bruise.

"I thought you were dead," she explained. "I heard the shot and came running, but I was all the way down the street. By the time I got there you were lying on the ground, not moving. Bleeding."

Daryl almost gave her a reassuring smile, but his busted lip got in the way.

"Aww, hell," he said, "Don't cry. I ain't dead yet."

She nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes, smearing his blood across her cheek. It made her look like a warrior, he thought. Like someone who fought tooth and nail to stay alive. The thought filled him with pride.

"No," she agreed, "You're not dead yet."

Then she pressed her mouth to his, fumbling and awkward as he bled into her mouth. He jerked back as a new flood of pain rushed to his torn lip.

"Ow," he said.

"Sorry," she whispered, eyes half-lidded. Then they both laughed, and Daryl _knew_ he'd never let _anybody_ take him away from her.

* * *

Two summers later, and the group was living on a peach orchard.

There was something so peaceful about it. It might have been the smell, light and fruity, the air so crisp and fresh with each dewy morning.

The fallen peaches attracted a whole range of animals, and for those two weeks they lived there, the group ate until they were full. There were no growling stomachs or gnawing hunger pains. They were content.

One evening, he followed the sound of her quiet singing. She was perched high in one of the branches, filling a basket with peaches for the road. They knew it was only a matter of time before the migrating herds caught up with them, and it was best to stay on the prepared side of things.

He could see the sweat glistening on her neck and shoulders, the way it dripped down the planes of her collar bone and between her breasts. They were both getting older, but Carol carried her age gracefully. Each passing year only made her more beautiful, he thought. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes were signs of laughter and warmth, the weathering of her hands reminders that she'd done what she needed to protect the group.

He shimmied up the bark to join her, swinging a leg over the branch to rest by her side. The sun was going down, falling slowly behind the horizon. The treetops were bathed in a glow of pink and orange, casting long shadows on the earth below. He could see little Judith running in circles around her big brother, telling him the story of a frog she'd found.

Carol briefly glanced from the task she was performing and gave him a warm smile. Her eyes sparkled in the colorful light, like a cosmos in themselves. Daryl felt his heart swell.

"I love you," he admitted suddenly, without having prepared to say it.

He loved her with every fiber of his being. He'd never said before, but she was his Northern Star, who guided him home when he was lost, who gave him hope in a hopeless world. She was proof that life could be _good_ and _worth living. _Carol saved him from himself.

She set the basket of peaches aside and scooted in close to him, pulling his arm around her so she could lean into his side.

They looked out at the sunset, at the waning light spilling through the leaves.

"I love you," she whispered back.

* * *

It is another cold, harsh winter, and this time they're camping out in an old baseball stadium. He can hear the wind whistle overhead, the shudder of it as it passes through the rotting bleachers. It's soothing in its own right.

He has one arm over Rick's leg, Michonne resting quietly against his back, and a warm, burning fire at the hearth of their huddled group.

But he has no woman to lean against his chest and whisper much needed proverbs.

Carol has been dead for almost two years now. He can still remember the cold weight of the gun in his hand as he pressed the barrel against her forehead. The smile on her face as she thanked him.

They live in a world where beautiful things are violently torn apart by teeth or bullets. Where loved ones stare into the bleeding eyes of their family as they put a hollow point through their brain. His love for her was like a super nova, a slow burning heat that grew brighter and hotter until it burned his heart out completely. But he knows that the body he left by the river bank in Tallahassee wasn't _her_. The moment she died, Carol was somewhere better. Reunited with her little girl.

And when Daryl is lonely, all he needs to do is look up.

* * *

_**End.**_


	5. Goodnight

**Goodnight  
A/N:** Fulfilling a prompt from asamcedesfan on Tumblr.  
**Summary:** Daryl decides to take baby Judith off Carol's hands for a night.  
**Song listened to:** "Goodnight, My Angel" - Billy Joel

* * *

It was around 3:00 in the morning when Daryl finally came in from a long shift on watch. There wasn't much to look at out there in the dark, just a few frozen corpses milling around without any real destination, and Daryl soon found his eyelids growing heavier and his concentration waning.

When Rick got up to take his place, Daryl was grateful. As they drew into the thick of winter, it was getting harder and harder to find creatures to hunt, and each trip took longer, draining more energy from him.

In fact, the only reason he bothered at all was for Carol. The woman was getting noticeably thinner as time progressed. Her sweaters grew baggier on her delicate frame, her slender fingers turning bony, her cheeks gaunt. Despite all assurances that she was fine, Daryl refused to accept it. It was damn distracting, worrying about her the way he did. If she wasn't always passing off her food to the kids so they'd get an extra bite of protein, he wouldn't have to work so hard.

Just as he was about climb the stairs and curl up on his perch, he heard the start of a cry. He sighed. Baby Judith's tiny burbles grew into loud wails in a matter of seconds, and Daryl determined it would be best if he took the kid off Carol's hands for the night. She needed the rest more than he did.

He tiptoed into Carol's cell, unwilling to wake her if Little Asskicker hadn't already. She was out like a light, expression peaceful in slumber. Her hand was draped over the edge of the bed and into the mailing tub where Judith rested, the child grabbing at fingers that hung just out of reach.

Daryl gingerly took her hand and held it in his for one prolonged moment. When she let out a little sigh in her sleep, he started, as if suddenly reminded where he was. He laid her hand over her chest, rising and falling with each steady breath, and he pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. There was no need for her to get a chill if she didn't have to.

"C'mon Little Asskicker," he whispered, picking the baby up to cradle in his arms, and he shuffled out of the cell to see the child better in the moonlight.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he said, "I'm just gonna take you outta Aunt Carol's hands for the night, is that alright?"

The baby blew spit bubbles at him and reached for his beard, calming her cries once she knew she had his attention. He ruffled her feathery brown hair beneath his fingers and inhaled her sweet, baby smell.

He didn't think he'd ever seen anything more perfect in his entire life. Everything about her was perfect. Ten little perfect fingers, ten little perfect toes. It brought a smile to his face as he cooed at her.

"Ya know kid, you got it made," he said softly, and gave the girl a bounce, "E'rybody here would get on their hands n' knees to make ya happy."

He looked up to one of the barred windows overlooking the cell block and sighed. "Especially Carol. You got one hell of an Aunt, darlin'."

Judith let out a few unintelligible sounds, clapping and squirming with glee. Daryl tightened his arms around her ever so slightly, surprised by the overwhelming feeling of protectiveness he felt for this kid who wasn't even his.

"She loves you, ya know," Daryl continued, "...n' well, I guess maybe I love the both a ya."

He squinted down at the giggling child in his arms and whispered, "Don't tell 'er I said that. It's our little secret, huh, Asskicker?"

Carol, who was quietly watching the precious scene from the shadow of her cell, smiled softly and climbed back into bed.

* * *

_**End.**_


End file.
